How to Survive
by Oblivion's Demon
Summary: I was broken, broken beyond recognition. These scars sew me back together, and they are the first thing I have ever loved. They are my closest friends. They protect me, and they wrap around me in their comforting embrace. Without them, I would be just like all the others; the ones who don't have a clue.
1. The Rules

How to Survive

Talk just loud enough that they never wonder what you have to say, but never say anything so deep they think about it too much. Life is full of meaningless words.

Show up just often enough that they don't look for you, but never stay long enough that they have a chance to observe you. Life is full of meaningless meetings.

Cry when life is sad, then they will find nothing odd in your tears.

Laugh when life is happy, so you blend into the crowd.

Never love so much that you feel you would die without something, it will be your undoing.

Never hate anything so much that it takes your mind, your mind is the last freedom that has not yet been taken.

Remember everything, your enemies are watching.

Empty your mind, ignorance is a mercy to your friends.

Smile and laugh from the bottom of your heart, you never know when dark clouds will descend.

Keep yourself removed from all life around you, like a silent specter; icy indifference is the only way to survive.

Ignore all advice, it is given by fools.

* * *

I learned each rule so long ago, each rule through sweat and blood. Each is a scar cut deep into my heart; cut so deep I am now in pieces, too small to be recognized. That's why they don't know me anymore. Or perhaps they never did. If there is no one around to remember your name, do you exist anymore? I don't remember anymore.

I only exist to blend in, to not be seen. They don't see me; they don't know who I am, and I don't want them to. I follow the rules; I follow them so well that they are the very embodiment of "me." Whatever I am, I know "I" will not go the way of the others.

Perhaps I should feel bad for the new ones, the little ninja running around without a clue. They don't know pain, they were born without it. They were born without the knowledge to protect themselves, without the scars that would guard them from any pain. Perhaps it is paradoxical of me to long for pain as protection. Without these scars, however, I would never have broken. I would still be vulnerable. My time to suffer is over, and for that, I am always grateful for the rules.

These ninja have no knowledge, and so it must fall to me to teach them, mustn't it? One in particular, he knows pain, better maybe than even me, but her refuses to learn from it. He ignores his pain, and he breaks every rule there is. His pain will not help him survive. If he wishes to be a seasoned ninja, Uzumaki Naruto will have to acknowledge his pain; he will have to be friends with it. Uzumaki Naruto must love his pain if he wants to survive.

But he does not follow the rules.


	2. Rule 1

Hey, um, Lay... you know how in you review you said it was Hinata? Um, well, it actually wasn't (scratches head awkwardly)...so, yeah. It was, originally just a random, narrator-with-a-lot-of-pain point of view, but now it's HINA TIME! (scratches head again) I just really love Hinata, so I suppose I will make it her P.O.V after all. That's all I had to say. Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this. I do appreciate reviews, but I will not force them out of you. Just, do whatever you like!

* * *

Talk just loud enough that they never wonder what you have to say, but never say anything so deep they think about it too much. Life is full of meaningless words.

* * *

He broke that rule before he even knew how to walk. Every word that comes out of that boy's mouth is a shout; he gathers too much attention. He screams, and he relishes the fact that everyone in the village curses his name. He prattles on and on, and even Iruka has trouble keeping him quiet.

When he is loud, they find him. They find him and they try to catch him, to beat some sense into them. And, every time, I think it works. I think they've managed to give him his invisibility, but he escapes by a hair, and I am shot back into despair.

I hope, though I had given up on such things years ago, that he will learn one day, before it becomes too late. Before he becomes like me.

When I was loud, when I screamed and shouted, they always caught me. I was never fast enough; I could never escape those grasping claws. The hands that nurtured my invisible silence, that grabbed and twisted my voice until it was a garbled representation of what I used to me, those hands looked just like mine.

I hated them; they were so hypocritical, calling themselves "gentle." There was nothing gentle about their screaming and their yelling. My silence is the only thing truly gentle. Naruto, so loud and brash, could never be as gentle as me.

When my gentle voice now speaks, it is of the weather, and the mission, and nothing else. My garbled voice speaks these garbled ideas, so different from how I feel. I do not love sunny days and difficult assassinations, and I most certainly do not love sparring with my "friends."

But they do not need to know that; they do not need to know that I love snowy days, and lemon tea, and training at night. They do not need to know _me_, because if they do, they will destroy me. They will pollute my snow, and poison my tea, and shatter my night with calling voices. They will take my silence, and myself, and they will smash their feet in already shattered glass.

I would be dust, floating in the wind, away from everything. It is the final step, the final piece of humanity I still cling to. And, when the time is right, I will let it go. Because no one hurts dust.

If he learns to speak _just _enough, _just _so they won't be suspicious, then maybe, _just_ maybe, that sunshine of his voice can be muted into a dust mote in the background, _just_ like I am.


End file.
